


Thunder, Wind and Warriors

by thealphagate_archivist



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Angst, Drama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-22
Updated: 2006-03-22
Packaged: 2019-02-02 07:21:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12722142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thealphagate_archivist/pseuds/thealphagate_archivist
Summary: Women, Religion and Jack - series of related vingettes.





	Thunder, Wind and Warriors

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the archivists: this story was originally archived at [The Alpha Gate](https://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Alpha_Gate), a Stargate SG-1 archive, which began migration to the AO3 in 2017 when its hosting software, eFiction, was no longer receiving support. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2017. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are this creator and it hasn't transferred to your AO3 account, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Alpha Gate collection profile](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/thealphagate).

**1\. 1959**

"All done, gre-gra." Jack O'Neill pushed his oatmeal bowl across the table towards his great-grandmother and squirmed out of his chair. "Fishing now?" Jack spent a month every summer with his grandparents; this year he had his very own brand new fishing pole. Grandpa even let him bait the hooks himself.

"Not today, Johan."

"Grandpa! It's Jonathan. Daddy calls me Jack."

"Fine. Johan, Jonathan. Jack. So American you are in Chicago. No fishing today."

"But why? You said we could fish every day. I sat still real good yesterday."

"Yes you did; but I said every day when the weather's nice. Today there will be a storm; can you smell it in the air? Your parents will be back for you this weekend; we still have three more days to fish before then."

"But I want to fish today."

"No, boy." Nels had almost forgotten how single-minded small children can be.

A low rumble of thunder could be heard in the distance; the first fat raindrops splashed on the windowsill.

"Listen, the storm is starting already. It will be here soon."

"I don't mind. The fish are already wet, they don't care."

"Ma?" Old enough to be a grandfather, but not too old to want his mother's help.

Inger laughed. "Why don't you get a fire started; then I'll tell the boy stories, and you and Sigret can have a nice rest."

"Ma, please, a four-year-old boy hasn't worn me out that badly by breakfast-time." Nels shook his head, but knelt at the hearth to do as she asked.

"Yes he has." Sigret patted Nels' shoulder, and called into the kitchen; "you're a wonderful mother-in-law, Inger. Thank you." She leaned over to kiss her husband's cheek, chuckling low in her throat. "It's naptime, kjaereste, start the fire and leave the boy with your mother for a few hours."

* * *

Jack curled up against his great-grandmother in front of the fireplace. "Why is there a storm today, gre-gra?" he asked plaintively. "I want to fish."

"I know." Inger kissed the top of his head, and ran her fingers through his hair. "But Thor is here today; when he passes by there is always thunder, and the thunder often brings rain." As if to prove her point, the thunder got louder as she spoke, flashes of bright light came through the window, and the rain fell harder. "Count the time between the thunderclaps and the lightning; the closer they are together, the closer Thor is to you."

"Who is Thor?"

"Oh my, your mother didn't tell you this story already?"

"No, gre-gra. Tell me now?"

"Well," she hugged him closer to her. "Thunder is the sound Thor's Chariot makes when it rolls across the top of the clouds. That's what squeezes the water out, that's why it falls from the sky."

"But why does he have to come here? I want to go fishing with grandpa."

"I know, liten. But Thor has to go everywhere in the world, to look down and make sure we're okay. He protects us from evil giants."

"Gre-gra, that's silly. There are no evil giants in Minnesota."

"Of course there's not. You see what a good job he does?"

"Wow. Like Superman."

"Yes, elskling. Exactly like Superman."

* * *

**2\. 1963**

"I can run fast, grandma, let me try."

Sigret handed over the kite and string. "Okay, Jackie, you can try. But I think we need to wait until after lunch for the wind to come up."

Jack ran, the kite behind him and slightly above, let out a little more string... he stopped, turned -- and it fell to the ground. "Awwww. It didn't work, grandma."

"I know, liten. Let's eat, then we'll try again. I promise, we'll get that kite up today."

"Okay."

Jack and his grandmother returned to their blanket; she opened the picnic basket and dished out the potato salad. "What am I doing wrong, grandma?" he asked. "Why won't the kite work?"

"It will, kjaer. I promise; if the wind doesn't come up by itself, I'll just ask Thor to send some. It'll work."

"But mommy says it's not nice to pray for selfish things; and Father Paduccio says miracles are only when God wants to."

"They're both right, honning. But it doesn't need a miracle to make a windy afternoon in Lincoln Park; we're just telling Thor that making it start at one o'clock is nicer for us than waiting until three o'clock. It's not even praying, really, more like... asking Jimmy next door if you can borrow his bike. Just a small favor. He always says yes, doesn't he?"

"Only because I help him practice hockey. He's the only boy at school who doesn't like baseball."

"And that's how you thank him. We'll ask for the wind, and we'll say thank you by sending a beautiful offering to fly in it. Thor will be pleased. Would you like the ham and cheese, or peanut butter and jelly?"

"Ham and cheese. Do you really think it's beautiful?"

"I do; and it's extra beautiful because you made it with your own hands. Kirsten said you didn't want her to help."

"She told me how and bought me the silk. More potato salad please? But I had to make it so it would be really mine. I wish Mommy could be here to watch it fly for the first time."

"She's not working tomorrow. Would you like to wait to fly it until then?"

"No, that's okay. We're going to the pound to choose a puppy for her."

"For her, is it? Well, okay then, we won't ask her to wait for that. You finished your sandwich very quickly; are you ready for another?"

"Yes please."

Jack ate his second sandwich slower than the first; and his third helping of potato salad slower still. By the time he'd finished his popsicle and they packed up the plates, a light breeze was blowing in off the lake.

"Is this enough wind now, grandma?"

"Almost. But let's ask for more." She stood facing the lake. "Now stand here next to me, Jackie, and put your arms up."

He did.

"Now repeat after me....."

"Okay."

"Oh, Thor, who rules over the wind."

"Oh, Thor who rules the wind."

"We have something beautiful to show you."

"I made something beautiful."

"Please send enough wind to carry it up."

"Please send enough wind to carry it up to you."

The wind strengthened.

"Okay, boy, try it now."

Jack held the kite up as high as his right arm would reach, the spool of string in his left hand, and ran -- he ran, the kite behind him and slightly above, let out a little more string... he stopped, turned -- and it caught. As he let the spool unroll in his hands, the kite rose higher and higher, until it was barely a speck in the sky.

* * *

**3\. 1965**

"Sister Mary Katherine?" The woman knocked on the doorjamb and peeked in. "I'm Kirsten O'Neill, Jack's mother."

"Yes, of course, Mrs. O'Neill, thank you for coming."

"If this is about Jack's math, I've been working with him after school, and -- "

"Oh, no, no, Mrs. O'Neill, I should have said. Jack's math is fine this term. I'm also very pleased with his progress in spelling, handwriting and geography. His next report card will show considerable improvement over his last."

"Then what seems to be the problem? Your note said it was serious. He's not fighting again, is he?"

"No, no, nothing like that. It's.... well, this is delicate. Did you read his Christian History paper?"

Sister Mary Katherine shuffled through some folders, withdrew a paper and slid it across the desk to Mrs. O'Neill. "He has passing marks in catechism, he knows the material, but I'm somewhat concerned about his attitude towards the Church."

Mrs. O'Neill looked at the nun quizzically, picked up the paper and began to read.

January 24 Report for Christian History by Jonathan O'Neill

The Vikings were a race of warriors in Scandanavia, which is the very northest part of of Europe. Scandanavia is three countries now; Norway, Sweden and Finland. But the Vikings are especially Norwegian. They didn't become Christian until a long time after everybody else in Europe, because they really liked the gods they already worshipped before.

Odin was the father of all the Norse gods. He is also called Woden. Wednesday is named after him. My favorite is Thor because Thor was the strongest of all the Norse gods. He was Odin's oldest son. Thor was a great warrior who protected the other gods, and he protected people, too. That is why they loved him best and prayed to him. When you hear thunder, that's Thor's chariot rolling across the clouds.

Thor had a special hammer called Mjollnir. He used it to kill giants and protect people. He could throw it at enemies, and after it hit them and killed them it would come back to him and he would catch it again. Just like a boomerang (but those are from Australia, so it's not the same). One time a snow giant stole Thor's Hammer and he got it back by dressing like a woman and fooling the giant. The giant was stupid. Tyr was the god of war, and people with bad accents think he's the same as Thor. But he's not. And Thor is a better fighter than Tyr.

Even when the Vikings became Christian, they still wore Thor's Hammers on necklaces with their crosses. The missionaries didn't know because they look almost the same. Thursday was named after him. Many Norwegian people live in Minnesota. They say they're Christian but I think they're just pretending. They still like Thor better than Jesus.

Jonathan O'Neill

"I don't understand," said Kirsten. "His facts are correct, his spelling is correct. Why is this paper a problem?"

"The problem," said Sister Mary Katherine, "is that the assignment was for a paper on Church history, and he's written about a pagan religion. He makes only passing mention of the Church, and not in flattering terms. I'm concerned for his soul."

"Ahh, I see." Kirsten furrowed her brow. "But those who practiced the old ways, there eventually came a time when they practiced both, no?"

"Well, of course, but -- "

"And then, later, they did fully accept the Church."

"Yes, because -- "

"And why is it a problem if Jack also follows this path? Is not the important thing what he comes to believe in the end?"

"Well, certainly, but we must correct his errors early before -- "

"Sister," Kirsten smiled, "you're new to this school, yes?"

"Yes, this year."

"Then you don't know my son very well. You'll see; Jack is a smart boy, but stubborn. He needs to learn everything for himself, in his own way. If there is only one truth, there may still be many paths to reach it, and he always wants a different path than everybody else. You needn't worry."

"But I do worry. The faith is -- "

"Is not subject to proof. When he knows you well enough to trust you, then he will come to trust what you believe. There is time."

"And what do you believe, Mrs. O'Neill?"

"I believe many things. I believe Sacred Heart is the best school for my boy."

"Very well, Mrs. O'Neill." Sister Mary Katherine did not find this very well at all, but she'd save her arguments for another day. "But I will assign him to write a make-up essay, as he did not fulfill the assigned topic."

"That sounds fair. It's good he should learn to answer the question he is asked. I will tell him I support your decision."

"Thank you. I look forward to seeing you again."

* * *

**4\. 1982**

"Hey, grandma." Jack leaned down to kiss the woman in the hospital bed. "I sent mom to the cafeteria so I could be alone with my favorite girl."

"It's good to see you too, min liten mus," Sigret chuckled, "You get the blarney from your father, you know." She patted his cheek. "Now turn around, let me look at you."

He stepped back and did a pirhouette, then stood to attention for her perusal.

She ran her eyes up his entire length. "You're looking well, the army certainly suits you."

"Air force, gran, air force," he grinned "But you knew that, didn't you? You're just teasing me."

She waggled her fingers at his collar. "And that's a new thing on your uniform, did they give you a medal? My grandson, the hero?"

"Not a hero, that's my new Captain's bars. It means I got a promotion."

"Ooh, that's big. Of course I'm teasing. I don't forget what's in your letters; my kidneys may be failing, but my eyes and my mind are just fine."

"Ah, gran." He sighed heavily as he pulled a chair up to her bedside and took her hand in his. "I've missed you."

"What's not to miss? Traveling to exotic countries with your friends, saving the world, what young man wouldn't rather be with his grandmother."

"You're as tough as anybody on my team, gran. I'd have you in my command any day."

"Of course you would. There's that blarney again, your father would be so proud. Now something I must tell you, and a promise I want; it may be my last chance. Sit down."

"Don't say that, grandma. You have years left." But he sat.

"Maybe. But let me tell you anyway. Do you remember the stories I used to tell you, of our history before history?"

"Always. I loved the sound of your voice telling me bedtime stories."

"Not just bedtime stories, Jacky, it was the myths and legends of our people. You used to love those stories, of our ancestors' Gods and their Heroes."

"I loved spending time with you, grandma, it was never about the stories. You smelled like cookies, you made me feel loved, and safe. I didn't really care about the rumors, lies and fairytales."

"Hush, boy. Rumors, lies and fairytales indeed." She grabbed his forearm with more strength than her frail old body looked like it could possibly contain. "Truth is not the point of it. Those are the stories that sustained our forebears during times of hardship, gave them hope and strength to carry on. Those stories are important."

He tilted his head and looked into her eyes for a long moment; the vibrant woman of his childhood was barely visible. Then he nodded, slowly. "Morale builders."

"If you want to call it that. Our history, real or not, made us who we are, they're part of what you are." She spoke forcefully. "You must never lose that."

"Okay, grandma."

"Promise me, Jack." She struggled to sit up.

Jack reached for the button that would elevate the bed. "Anything, grandma." He busily fluffed her pillows, and hoped his sorrow wasn't apparent in his face or voice. "But please, the doctor said you need to rest."

"Promise me you'll tell your children the tales, and your grandchildren. Promise me the stories will carry down the generations."

"I will. I swear it."

"Good boy." She patted his hand, and leaned back against the pillow. "Now tell me something happy. This Sara you spoke of in your letters, she sounds lovely. Tell me everything."

* * *

**5\. 1989**

"Here we go." Major Jack O'Neill handed his snack bar haul to his wife, and plucked their son from her lap. "Hot dogs and pretzels all the way around; soda for you, beer for me, milk for Charlie. I did good, right?" He sat down next to her, Charlie in his lap.

"That depends," laughed Sara. "Mustard? Relish? Napkins?"

"Napkins! Arggh!" He slapped his forehead. "I knew I forgot something." He mock-whispered to Charlie, loud enough for Sara to hear. "That's okay, right son? We'll just wipe off on our shirts, like the manly men we are. It's important to know how to improvise supplies."

Sara shook a finger at him, trying to contain her amusement. "You just try it mister, you'll be doing all the laundry for the next month."

"Laundry, huh? I had other plans for the month. Plans that don't involve clothes." He twitched his eyebrows, leaned over to kiss her, and grabbed two of the dogs; there were napkins underneath. In a flurry of wax paper and mustard packets, lunch was served.

Several of Jack's past and present team-mates joined them at their table; Frank Cromwell's wife brought enough cheesecake for everyone, Charlie Kawalsky passed around a bunch of those silly hats with the beer and straw apparatus attached, the new lieutenant whose name Jack hadn't even bothered to learn brought a portable radio to listen to the NBA playoffs. It was an early round, so the Nuggets hadn't been totally humiliated yet.

"Gonna be the Lakers all the way again this year," said Frank. "That Magic, he's something else."

"Yeah, fine," said Jack. "So they've got some good players. But I'm not putting my money on a team that would abandon Minnesota. Besides which, basketball doesn't count. It's not even an Olympic sport."

"It is."

"It's not."

"It most certainly is. USA almost always gets the gold."

"Not last year. Damn Russkies."

"So you do remember."

"I try not to. And everybody knows it's hockey that matters."

Conversation slowed down as the game began; they ate, and drank, and the men cheered their teams. Jack occasionally glanced over at where the wives and kids were talking about.... well, he couldn't actually hear from this distance, but the wives were smiling, and the kids looked entertained, and who was he to look a gift horse in the mouth?

At halftime they switched off the radio, and everybody began to move towards the bleachers for the airshow.

* * *

It was a good one this year; Sara particularly liked the bi-planes (complete with wing-walkers), Charlie took special interest in the fully restored P-51 Mustangs and Messerschmidts re-enacting dogfights of a bygone era while Jack repeated oft-told stories he was certain were at least half true. The newly declassified F117A stealth fighter was a crowd pleaser, as was the skydiving team.

Jack's all-time favorite was scheduled for the grand finale -- the Blue Angels were the reason he'd joined the Air Force instead of the Army (he was halfway through basic training before he realized they were a Navy outfit). Jack relaxed and enjoyed his family's pleasure in the interim; he took special pride in how much Sara and Charlie smiled. The airshow didn't give his family a realistic picture of what he did when he was away, but it was close enough to make them feel connected to his work, and that's what counted.

When finally the Blue Angels thundered by on their last pass, low enough for spectators to feel the wake turbulance, Jack leapt to his feet, Charlie perched on his hip, and punched a fist in the air. "Yeah Thor!" he yelled, "You tell 'em buddy!"

Charlie giggled, and clutched at Jack's shirt. "Daddy, who's Thor?"

"Well, Charlie," Jack hugged his son, smiled at his wife, and sat back down. He adjusted Charlie to sit on his knee, and leaned in close to put their foreheads together, Sara resting her head on his shoulder.

"Let me tell you a story," Jack began, "about the Viking Air Force Special Ops....."

* * *

**6\. 1998**

"He told me to give you a message to satisfy your curiosity," said Gairwyn. "I'm to tell you he's a member of a species who have visited your world often. They are a friend to all, protector of all... except the Goa'uld, with whom they are at war."

"Well, that's very nice," Jack replied, "but I'd still like to meet the old guy."

It was a bittersweet smile that crossed his face; he thought briefly of fish and kites and airshows, mothers and sons and companions long gone.


End file.
